


Caveat Emptor

by havocthecat



Category: Ultraviolet (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon, Vampires, Yuletide, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 18:52:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havocthecat/pseuds/havocthecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Now that MI6 is aware of the Code Five threat, Frances has the unenviable job of acting as the organization's liaison to the Vatican.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Caveat Emptor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wyrdwritere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyrdwritere/gifts).



> Thank you to my betareaders, WiliQueen, who knows the source material (and has had many, many discussions with me about it over the years), and calleigh_j, who knows the source material _and_ is British and therefore can pick up all my Americanisms and club me with them until I remove them from my fic.

"What do you think?" asks Frances. She flips open the folder and pushes it across the table to Kirsty. "It's a new identity for you. In the Caribbean. Plenty of sunlight, and there's work for primary school teachers all over the world."

Kirsty's palms flatten on the table and she swallows. "Will I run into any of them there?" she asks. Frances is surprised - but pleased - to hear that Kirsty's voice doesn't waver.

"They're everywhere." Vaughan speaks up from his spot next to Frances. "You can't escape them. But there are places where there's fewer of them."

Angie is leaning against the wall, her arms folded over her stomach. "The Church is organized in the Caribbean. There are structures in place that will help protect you, if you let them."

Michael isn't there for this meeting. He said it was probably best if Kirsty never saw him again, and, frankly, Frances can't disagree with him. Kirsty's not going to adapt to their line of work.

"I can't take it, living like this, knowing that there are creatures out there like what Jack is now." Kirsty bows her head for just a moment to study the paperwork. When she meets Frances' eyes, there's both uncertainty and anger in them. "You think that makes me weak, don't you?"

There's a long pause before Frances answers. "It's not weak to know when you're in over your head."

There's a time she'd have answered yes, and damn what anyone else thought. She and Kirsty have a history that's complicated and difficult to explain to anyone, though Michael comes closest to understanding.

"All right." Kirsty nods. The look in her eyes firms up, and she manages a weak smile as she picks up her pen and signs. Frances returns it; Kirsty deserves that much, at least. "It's time for a change anyway, isn't it?"

***

Frances and Angie meet for coffee once a week. It's good form to make a business relationship look like a friendship from the outside. Now that MI6 is aware of the Code Five threat, Frances has the unenviable job of acting as the organization's liaison to the Vatican.

The higher ups in Frances' organization are a little embarrassed that a religious paramilitary organization has set up shop in the heart of the UK without being uncovered. The potential for nuclear winter has them concerned enough to overlook the niceties and forgo territorial squabbles. For now.

It's not until after coffee, when they've caught up on each other's personal lives and gone back to one of their offices, that they get down to work.

Perhaps it's not just a business relationship after all.

***

"Michael's gone." Vaughan is standing on Frances' doorstep, early morning sun streaming behind him. Angie stands next to him, her face tight with worry.

"What the hell?" Frances shades her eyes and stands to the side as she looks out the door. None of the cars parked outside have shaded windows.

After Vaughan and Angie are settled, Frances pulls the blinds and sits in her favorite chair. "What happened?"

"We'd been investigating some Code Five activity at local power stations," says Vaughan. He and Angie look at each other, a quick, flickering glance that tells Frances they're not sure how much to share with her.

"Don't worry, I already know about their plan to shut down the grid in the event their nuclear winter goes off as planned," says Frances. Her voices is tart, and she rises. She needs something to do with her hands, so she goes into the kitchen and puts the kettle on for tea.

Angie rises and follows her. "How did you--"

"Generator sales have spiked in patterns that overlay the geographic locations of all known Code Five activity," says Frances. She measures out the tea leaves and gets three mugs down from her cupboard, then pauses and leans on the worktop a moment. "I'm a systems analyst, remember? I run these sorts of things in my sleep."

"Right," says Angie, and that's all that's said about that.

They search for Michael for months. There's no word, not even a whisper, and Frances' sources have as little success as the Vatican's.

***

The cult leader is Code Five. They've inside information on that, but no name on their source. Her name is Mary. She looks angelic in her cellular blue Sacred Heart school uniform. Her red hair falls in a cloud around her face, which has a light a sprinkling of freckles. She appears to be a young, innocent girl, brimming with promise. She's never going to flower into womanhood.

There's a pain in Angie's eyes that goes beyond the lost possibilities of this particular girl. Mary is standing across from Rose March when they enter the room. The two girls are surrounded by other teens, at least half of whom come from Rose's school, Sacred Heart. They've been drugged to the gills on LSD. Frances has read the autopsy reports from Mary's last school.

The children of people with "useful" parents will be offered the opportunity to make the transition. They'll be used as bait for their parents - government officials, scientists, investigators, anyone that will prove useful to them. The rest will be led to commit mass suicide.

Mary's got Rose in a grip so tight that she's going to be sporting bruises by the end of the day, so long as she survives. With one arm wrapped around Rose's throat, and the other holding Rose's arm behind her back, it's not certain. Vaughan, Angie, and Frances all have firearms out and leveled at Mary. The other children stare at them, stupefied.

That's when Michael opens the door and levels his gun at Mary. Or maybe at Vaughan, because Mary turns her head and smiles. "It's about time you got here," she says.

"That's right, it is," Michael spits out, then fires. Rose twists her way free, just before Mary goes up in a column of flames. Angie sweeps her daughter out of the way and holds her close. The other teenagers scatter. Frances doesn't bother trying to round them up; she'll just crack into their home computers in the next week and scare them into staying on the straight and narrow.

Vaughan keeps his gun trained on Michael, even as Frances lowers hers. "He's got no reflection."

"Michael?" Frances stares in amazement as she lifts her gun and checks the sight. No reflection. "How could you do something like this?"

She knows Michael well enough to know he wouldn't become one of them voluntarily. Or, at least, Frances thought she knew him that well.

"You know when they say don't take anyone that's not willing?" Michael asks. He shrugs as he holsters his firearm. "It's bollocks."

"What the _hell_ happened to you?" asks Vaughan. He's angry, but no angrier than Frances.

"Nothing I wanted," says Michael.

Frances is stunned. Angie is kneeling on the floor, examining Rose for injuries. She turns her head just as Vaughan's finger starts to tighten on his trigger. "Michael." She reaches into her purse and pulls out a bandana to wrap around Rose's arm. There's a burn.

"Angie." Michael's face is taut. He's staring at Vaughan, waiting for him to fire. Daring him, practically, Frances knows that about Michael. She doesn't think Vaughan knows it. Michael sounds tired.

"You're the mole," says Angie. It's not a question, and at that revelation, Frances lowers her firearm and holsters it.

Michael nods. The movement is terse. "I wasn't going to help them end humanity before. I bloody well won't help them now either."

"Let him go," says Angie.

"Pearse won't like it." Vaughan keeps his gun trained on Michael.

Angie's eyes flicker up to Rose, and she gives her the faintest of smiles. "I'll explain everything to Pearse. Let him go."

"You can't trust a leech," says Vaughan. His hatred has always been blind, but Frances has read his file, and heard his story first hand. He's got reason to hate them.

"But we can trust Michael," says Frances. She isn't moving, just watching the situation and assessing it. "I'm sorry it's come to this."

There's a moment where Michael smiles, and Frances is struck by how he doesn't look any different than before. Even knowing that everything has changed, it's hard to believe it. "Thanks, Frances."

Vaughan lowers his gun with one last, hard look at Michael. "If you step out of line, even for an instant--"

"I get it," interrupts Michael, sounding exasperated. "I'm counting on you for it."

Vaughan nods. "I know."

"They'll be expecting me back soon," he says. "I'll tell them you'd gotten to Mary before I arrived. There was an accident on the road. I'll just tell them it delayed me a little longer than it really did."

Frances reaches into her pocket, pulls out her mobile phone, and tosses it to Michael, who catches it in one smooth movement. It's rather a nice one; she's not looking forward to the replacement costs. On the other hand, she's betting that the older ones don't keep up on technology.

"Keep it off when you're not using it," says Frances. The government isn't going to like her expensing this phone, no matter how necessary it might be.

"I can't use this any more," says Michael, holding it out to her.

"There's a new thing, you might have heard about it?" asks Frances, her voice a little sharper than she intends. "It's called texting. I'll get you my new number tomorrow. Erase the texts as soon as you read or send one. Put in an important date - one I'll recognize - but never the same one twice in a row. That's how I'll know the messages are from you."

Michael chuckles. "Jesus. You really are good with this spy shit."

"Go on." Frances nods at the door. "Be a good little Code Five. Don't give them any reason to suspect you."

Michael gives them one last almost-smile, and then leaves. The door clicks shut behind him.

Frances pretends she's not about to cry, because she has enough control over her emotions to wait until she gets home, sets the security system, and pours herself a double scotch. She pretends that she believes the world is still a good place, and there aren't terrorists trying to bring about a nuclear winter to destroy humanity. Who knows? Maybe they'll get lucky. They've been slowly evening the odds for a while now.

\--end--


End file.
